


Stop and Remember

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 14:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13706619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: For Genyatta Week 2018 day 5 - snow day





	Stop and Remember

**Stop and Remember**

Russia is… cold.

Zenyatta had, of course, expected that, but knowing something and experiencing it are far different things, and his servos feel chilled as he slowly descends from the OverWatch ORCA plane.

The wind slams into him as soon as he’s on the ground, and the soil underneath his feet is crunchy with ice and snow, and for a second he feels unbalanced, almost stumbling as his sensors recalibrate, his core humming a couple degrees warmer to make sure his internal hydraulic processes do not freeze.

At his side, he hears Jesse curse –he had underestimated the cold, expecting to be able to weather it easily– and as he turns to the side, he catches him run back up on the plane, probably to get that heavy coat one of their Russian associates had offered him earlier.

The embassy keeps walking in front of them, all three men and one woman keeping a steady pace as they walk away from the plane and towards a parked set of cars, and Zenyatta moves towards them, Genji flanking him, and behind them Zarya, Mei and Lena.

Genji bumps their shoulders together, tilting his head towards him in askance, and Zenyatta flashes him a smile through his forehead array, touched by the constant concern Genji has for him.

So far, his presence has been mostly ignored, only omnic on the plane and only omnic belonging to OverWatch, but his status as an agent seems to trample the fact that he is not organic, and the Russians are desperate enough not to care; the only one who keeps shooting him glares is Zarya, but she’s been doing this for the past month even as she warms up to his presence, so Zenyatta does not care.

Their mission will only last one week at most, after all, and it is better to concentrate on the finer details.

Zenyatta follows the Russian agents, and Genji remains planted at his side, fingers brushing together as they walk, and once they sit together in one of the cars, they link hands together for the ride.

***

“Oi, it’s snowing outside!”

Lena presses her face against the window, cheek leaving behind smudges on the glass pane, hot breath fogging it until she can no longer see outside, so she pushes back, wipes the smudges away with her sweater, and then stays there at the window, in awe.

Zenyatta is sitting near one of the heaters, testing his servos and his circuits, setting out a few diagnostic tests to make sure he will be capable of reacting at top percent ability, but he does look up to glance outside, and Lena is right.

It is snowing.

It’s not quite dark outside, so Zenyatta’s optical receptors are entranced by the soft fluttery white falling in plain view, and the sight makes him pause, for a moment foregoing his diagnostics to simply look.

He had not realised it before, but… he misses snow.

Since leaving Nepal with Genji, he has been to so many places, and yet has not seen snow in any of them. It has been… years, since he’s last seen snow in person, and the sight is mesmerizing.

Before he realises he’s doing it, Zenyatta shuffles to his feet and goes to Lena’s side, looking out of the window, and she flashes him a smile. “Do you like the snow, Zen?” then she seems to realise what she said, because she giggles. “Ah, silly me! Of course you do, you lived up in the mountains, did you not?”

“Indeed. We had plenty of that, back at the monastery.” Zenyatta replies, but even his tone is somewhat distant, attention focused outside.

Lena seems to realise something is up, because she simply hums, a soft smile on her lips, and both fall silent, observing as the snow continues to fall.

***

It is evening when Zenyatta slips out of their assigned room.

They are free to roam as they please, but none of them wishes to snoop around, and since they have another meeting the next day to reconvene about the mission, all they want to do is stay in their warm room and rest until it’s time to work.

Antsy, optical receptors flickering from the window to Genji’s hands as he tries simple magic tricks to entertain Lena and Jesse, Zenyatta fights the impulse to leave until he can no longer ignore it.

Then, just as Genji makes a coin disappear into thin air, he stands up and leaves the room.

He simply wishes for a few moments to enjoy the snow, nothing more –he will be back in no time, enough so that he won’t freeze. He knows his limits, and he knows Russia is not a kind place for an omnic to be.

The corridor is empty, and so are the stairs that lead to the front door of the hotel, the lobby only occupied by a grumpy woman who shoots him a suspicious gaze as he walks by, and then–

And then Zenyatta is outside.

Russia is colder than Nepal ever was, the temperatures low even with the snow, a harsh wind blowing right into his optical receptors, and despite his thermo-regulating sensors underneath his chassis, warming up his frame against the cold, Zenyatta still feels the chill.

He does not really care.

He tilts his head up, facing the dark, grey clouds above him, and watches the fat snowflakes come down around him, beautiful in their dancing. They fall on his body, melting quickly against his warm metal, and leave behind the lightest sheen of humidity.

Everywhere he looks, he sees white.

White covers a nearby crimson van, white decorates the trees on the street around him, the bikes, the walls, the ground.

White covers Zenyatta’s own body, as there is more snow than his chassis can melt, so he brushes it away distractedly with one hand as he resumes walking down the road, headed nowhere in particular.

Zenyatta has been on the road for so long, that he has never realised how much he’s missed such a simple yet familiar beauty, and now that he sees it again for the first time in years, he feels like a weight on his chest has been lifted.

He keeps walking for a while, core fluttering as more snow piles everywhere around him, the air cottony as shadows advance, but he pays no mind to it, lost in his own thoughts, calm and at peace.

The last time he walked through the snow, like this, was… was…

A falter in his footsteps, Zenyatta stumbles a little, straying from the road and sideways.

The last time he had been at Mondatta’s side.

Zenyatta stops in the middle of what had to be a patch of grass of a communal garden.

No one is around, and the footsteps of other people slowly fill in with fresh snow, paths well tracked during the day fading away as snow keeps on falling, and a streetlight at his side flickers on, casting its white light on top of him.

Zenyatta is not here. He remembers, vividly, the last time he’s walked with Mondatta.

The snow path in front of the monastery, well-travelled by visitors and villagers alike, is covered in snow, and it reaches Zenyatta’s knees. There is no wind, not like in Russia, but it’s dark.

They left the monastery behind them and walk together in peace, silent but content to be in each other’s company.

Zenyatta remembers Mondatta’s face plate, the warm flicker of his forehead array as he tilted his head towards him, one hand extended so Zenyatta can lean into the touch, metal cold to the touch but warm in its meaning.

He remembers telling Mondatta he would leave, then.

They’ve spoken after this, but it is the last time he has seen Mondatta in person. The last time he has seen him with his own optical receptors, and alive.

After this time, after this memory of Mondatta, surrounded by snow as white as his pristine kasaya that is the last he has of him, he remembers him through holo-visors, on the news, or through a short videocall.

After this, Mondatta died, alone. Away from Zenyatta. With Zenyatta gone, travelling his own path with Genji at his side, and then, and then…

Mondatta, who had always been at his side, who supported him even when they disagreed on how to approach others, who spent so many nights awake, busy with work, with official paperwork, with other people, with his stance as a leader, dancing dances Zenyatta did not wish to be part of, who wanted Zenyatta to be free from it, and still who had enough time to spend some with him or the other Shambali, taking interest in them, always supportive, always full of love–

In front of him, Mondatta’s figure feels almost real, as if he could touch him, as if they could walk once again together in the snow, free from the world, free from heavy worries and duties, brothers once again, alone yet together.

He yearns…

Zenyatta stumbles, reaches one hand out, vainly, to grasp the past, to feel once again the touch of Mondatta’s hand on his head, unbalanced, cold and lonely, and–

“Zenyatta!”

The voice washes through him like a wake-up call.

Zenyatta’s optical receptors flicker online again, and he returns, sharply, to the present.

At once, he is bombarded with warning red flashes across his vision, processes tumbling against one another, and becomes aware of the cold state of his body, the lowered temperature, the snow layer covering his chassis, obscuring his vision, body weirdly sluggish and heavy.

His optical receptors blink, refuse to focus, and he forces one cold, frozen hand to move to the front of his face plate, wiping some snow away.

How long has he…

“Zenyatta!”

Genji’s voice filters through his thoughts like fire, and suddenly Zenyatta remembers where he is, tries to turn his head, to call for Genji, tell him he’s alright, not to worry, and why does Genji sound so…

Hands, warm against his chassis, wrap around his shoulders. A heavy frame curls around him, jolts him out of his immobility, and fingers fumble to push the snow away from his frame, finally clearing his vision enough that Zenyatta can focus on Genji’s chest, now covered with something warm, and fuzzy.

“Gen… ji?”

“Zenyatta, are you–” a sharp tone of worry, arms still wrapped around him, and Zenyatta feels frozen on the spot, rooted and motionless, cold outside and inside, if not for the warmth that comes from Genji’s chest pressed against him. “You are freezing! What were you… Zenyatta, are you alright? Are your maintenance protocols still functioning?”

“… it appears… I am unable to move, Genji.” Zenyatta hums, runs more diagnostics, and they all return him the same results. “I underestimated the cold. What time…” he checks his own internal clock. He has been outside for over two hours, but it does not feel that long. “… oh.”

The dark around him makes more sense, now.

“I was worried when I saw you gone, and when you did not come back… why did you leave?” Genji’s voice spikes up in worry, but not anger. He refuses to let him go, but thanks to the contact, Zenyatta does not feel as cold anymore. Slowly, some of his sensors go online again, but the sensation he receives is a sharp twinge of pain, the cold too intense.

“I was…” Zenyatta hesitates. He thinks about Mondatta, and feels… guilty. And even more so at worrying Genji even more. “… lost in thought.” Then he flinches, and sighs. “That is not the full truth. I missed the snow, on our travels, but as I was walking, I…”

“Shhh. It is alright. Lean on me. Can you move your legs any?”

Zenyatta tries to take a step, and one leg fails underneath his weight. Genji catches him, gently, and then hoists him up in his arms, bridal style. Zenyatta finds his head pressed against Genji’s chest, just like before, the warmth of his body precious, and important, rooting him to the now.

He feels… tired. Part of him is still caught somewhere else, probably his processes affected by the cold.

A greater part of him feels shame, for allowing thoughts of his past to cling to him enough that he got this close to damaging his circuits. It is not like him.

“I’ll have to carry you back, it seems,” Genji murmurs, and it sounds both like teasing and like a promise, as if he attempted to sound put-out but is, in truth, quite pleased. “But Zenyatta… don’t leave like that. I had no idea where you were, and your comm was off.”

“… ah. I did not notice.” Cold fingers slowly inch to wrap around Genji’s neck, tugging him closer, and Zenyatta presses his forehead against Genji’s visor. “Forgive me, my heart. I was trapped in my own thoughts.”

“What is it that troubled you so? Will you allow me to share this burden with you?”

Genji starts to walk, and Zenyatta looks forwards; the snow is still falling, and he did not notice before how high it already is. It reaches easily Genji’s knees, familiar in such a foreign place, and just as beautiful as before, but now Zenyatta’s brain feels disconnected with it, and only seeks out Genji’s warmth.

The night, the snow… his world is reduced to Genji carrying him, and his voice, and his warmth, and Zenyatta sighs, quietly, and relaxes, the tension leaving his servos, still stiff due to the cold.

Slowly, he finds himself telling Genji the truth. He talks about that night –Genji had been there, inside the monastery, helping out some of the other monks as Zenyatta and Mondatta were outside. As Zenyatta talks, Genji holds him closer, as if to protect him from a past that left both of them astray.

“The next morning I was too busy with you, with my impatience with leaving, with the bitterness I still felt about having to leave, with wanting it so much. I did not care much for the beauty surrounding us as we left.” He chuckles, weakly. “Forgive me, Genji. I must be more tired than I thought.”

“You are still grieving. We both are. Mondatta, he…” Genji’s tone falters, choked with similar pain, and swallows it down, even as one of Zenyatta’s cold, partially frozen hands moves to cup his visor. “He left us behind, and the wound is still fresh. It only happened a few months ago. We are coping with that loss and it is no shame you were reminded of him now.”

“Look at you –how much you’ve grown, and learned. I am proud of you, but my own pain should not take away from your own. We have both–”

Genji stops, and shifts Zenyatta around so that he can push his visor against Zenyatta’s face plate. He cannot take it out, not in this weather, not when both of his arms are full with Zenyatta’s frame, and even if he could kiss him, there were no lips to be silenced.

And yet, Zenyatta quietens at the motion nonetheless.

“Do not seek to hide your own pain from me. We are both grieving, yes, I cannot claim to know the depths of your suffering, nor should you compare, or minimize your own for my sake. But…” Genji hesitates. “But I am here. We are both still here. So please… lean on me, Zenyatta. Let me be your strength, as you are mine, always.”

“It appears I am, already.” Zenyatta hums, and has enough focus to flicker some of his omnic energy forwards in a kiss.

Genji chuckles, warm and present and there, and Zenyatta tightens his hold on Genji’s neck, clings to him with all the strength he can muster in his cold limbs, and presses his face plate fully against Genji’s chest.

He listens to the soft thrumming of Genji’s inner workings, mixed with the soothing, rhythmic sound of his heart beating.

“We will have other snow days,” Genji murmurs near his auricular receptor, even as he starts to walk again. “We will make new memories, so the old ones will not hurt as much anymore.”

“Thank you for coming to find me, Genji.”

“If I did not, I would have had an icicle as a boyfriend, and the idea is not really one I fancy, Zenyatta.”

This steals a quiet laughter from Zenyatta’s synth. “Indeed. I might need to borrow a sweater from our kind hosts.”

Genji stops again. “A sweater, Zenyatta?”

“… yes, I think so. I have always wanted to try one on… perhaps one of those cute, festive ones–”

“I will buy it for you, then.” Determination fills Genji’s tone, together with something else, playful. Anticipating. “I will buy you all the sweaters you can wear.”

“Let us start with one, perhaps.”

“One at a time, yes.”

And Zenyatta understands keenly that Genji means more than just the sweaters.

The walk back to the base is quiet, but Zenyatta does not mind.

The snow around them is soft, and white, and cold, cottons the world until there is only one thing in sharp focus, and that is Genji’s body against his own, warm and steady.

Zenyatta sighs, and allows himself this.

Later, there will be a different warmth, and a heater, and the happy, cheerful sounds of their companions welcoming them back, and teasing Zenyatta for needing to be carried back inside like a princess.

Later, there will be sound to fill the silence.

Now, there is only them, and their love, just as steady as Genji’s heartbeat, warmth capable of keeping the cold of the snow at bay.

Now, they are alone, together.

 


End file.
